The Prince's Waltz
by eeveepkmnfan
Summary: Tsuna loved to tease him, and that was why he was in this mess in the first place. Dancing. Him?...Bel didn't know whether to focus on the bafflement he was feeling or his cursing. And the pink on his cheeks wasn't in any way a blush, he would swear to his dying day. That day, the Varia learned to never bring up the subject of dancing around Bel. Because it was suicidal.


Bel noted that Tsuna loved to tease him. Whether by sticking out his wonderful pink, pert tongue (he could think of plenty of _other _ways to put it to use), swinging his hips as he walked, giving him that sly little smirk of his, or cheekily drinking the last cup of coffee at breakfast (he always drank the last cup made in the evening).

Tsuna loved to tease him, and that was why he was in this mess in the first place. At least, that's what Bel tried to believe. Because it certainly wasn't that cute little _look _Tsuna had given him when the honey eyed boy was asking. No. Definitely not. The look where his caramel orbs widened and sparkled in the light, with his lower lip jutted out at an angle (did he realize just how irresistible it made him look?), and his hair stuck all up in random directions. _That _sort of thing had absolutely no affect on him whatsoever.

Bel cursed that look in his mind, in seven different languages.

Tsuna had somehow dragged him into some sort of dancing game. _Dancing_. _Him_?...Bel didn't know whether to focus on the bafflement he was currently feeling or his cursing.

"Okay, now do this..." Tsuna demonstrated, then looked expectantly at him, his eyes excited.

_'...What?' _Bel still hadn't quite finished thinking over the situation he had been dragged into (or his cursing), he wasn't ready to start!

But Tsuna motioned for him to go, waving his hand in anticipation. So Bel heaved a great sigh inwardly, and did a quick little spin, his arms flailing about wildly, with his hips rotating slightly. All in all, he felt he hadn't done too bad. Dancing wasn't all that hard, exactly, was it?

Well, apparently he went wrong some where, as Tsuna laughed loudly, tears falling from his eyes, and color was starting to blossom across his cheeks. Just as Bel thought the laughter had died down, _no_, Tsuna wasn't done. He had bent over on his knees, laughing even harder than before.

Hmph. Bel crossed his arms across his chest and scowled, even though it wasn't really something a prince should be doing (but he was the best prince in the world, so he could probably do whatever he wanted). Well then. He chanced a look back at the younger boy, his mood worsening further when the noise hadn't yet stopped.

He was actually kind of insulted, in that vague, slightly embarrassing sort of way. But princes didn't get embarrassed (or so he kept telling himself), so he did his best to ignore the feeling before, _god forbid_, he do something so unprincely and idiotic as _blushing_.

No. Princes did not blush, it was unsightly...

The pink on his cheeks wasn't in any way a blush, he would swear to his dieing day.

Bel had given up on dancing, ultimately. He was just too good for that sort of frivolous nonsense. (No, not because Tsuna couldn't stop laughing at everything he did. No.) His talents were better suited towards other, more important things...

But that didn't stop the Varia from laughing at him whenever they passed by him in the halls.

Well, those _peasants_ just didn't know how to appreciate his fine talent for dancing. He knew he was a superb master at the art, and that was why he didn't say anything, and let them assume what they wanted. His head held high, he strutted past them all, a dangerous smile present on his face, hands reaching for his precious knives...

That day, the Varia learned to never bring up the subject of dancing, or anything related to it, anywhere around Bel. Because it was suicidal.

Yes, Bel was a prince. He didn't _dance_. He _waltzed_. He waltzed and all the peasants were left to stare in awe of him, never noticing the knives poised at their feet, too caught up in their own frenzied dance. Never realizing until it was much too late that they had stumbled and fell, right into his waltz. He had _waltzed_ all through his life, and he hadn't really stopped now either.

So, no. He didn't dance. He _waltzed_, with knives and sharp smile worn, his feet elegantly moving to his own tune.


End file.
